


Shannara Does Rylen Appreciation Week 2018

by ShannaraIsles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Rylen Appreciation Week, Templars, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: It has begun! Rylen Appreciation Week is here, and so is my participation. And this is where I'm keeping my offerings for the five prompts.





	1. Knight-Captain Rylen, the Templar

**Author's Note:**

> DAY 1 - Monday, February 26th: Knight-Captain Rylen, the Templar
> 
> Rylen has spent multiple years as a Templar at the Starkhaven circle and he certainly has many stories to tell from his time there. What were his experiences? What was his first Harrowing like? Did he get along with his Knight-Commander? This is the day to tell us!

"This is insubordination! I am your commanding officer!"

Knight-Captain Rylen looked back at Ser Bevan, Knight-Commander of Starkhaven, from across the wide desk.

The title was a technicality only - there was no Circle in Starkhaven, hadn't been for years, not since the fire that had gutted their tower and destroyed so many phylacteries. Ser Bevan had risen to the rank of Knight-Commander in the months that followed, for his dogged pursuit of the escaped mages and the way he had organized the men and women under his command to escort them safely to other Circles in the Free Marches. Technically, there was no need for a garrison of templars in Starkhaven while there were no mages to protect, but the Chantry had deemed it necessary to maintain them there. To help keep order, they said. What was unspoken was the tacit approval from the Grand Cleric in Kirkwall of the way Ser Bevan had struck terror into the hearts of anyone who dared cross the Templar Order in Starkhaven.

What was also unspoken was the contempt many of Ser Bevan's subordinates held for him, knowing that his actions were built on fear and paranoia. He had modeled himself on Knight-Commander Meredith, and their barracks - once a place of as much contemplation and faith as it had been a military arm of the Chantry - had become a festering sore. In his terror of what _might_ be, he turned a blind eye to knights that abused their position to cause harm to those without influence or wealth; he kept from promotion the moderates that would have curbed those abuses in his name. It was a blessing that he had no mages to terrorize. Rylen had been Knight-Captain long before Ser Bevan was promoted to rank above him, and despite attempts to demote or remove him, none of the charges had stuck. The Knight-Commander was forced to tolerate a Knight-Captain who moderated his orders, who interpreted them kindly when they insisted on punishment for those innocent beyond a reasonable doubt. But there was only so much a man could take, and that final line was there in front of him. He was ready to cross it.

"Then take command, ser!" Rylen countered, his voice forceful but not without respect. "Our brothers and sister in Kirkwall need support. They need lyrium, ser!"

"Supplies are being secured for them through Chantry channels," Ser Bevan insisted. "We will not interfere."

"They've had no supplies sent since before the bloodbath at the Gallows," Rylen ground out, trying to keep his temper in the face of his seething superior. "If even half the garrison there survived, they'll be on short rations, and they've still mages to guard and keep well there. We have a surplus of lyrium ourselves, ser. We've the means to aid them."

"That lyrium, Knight-Captain, is for the use of templars in Starkhaven and no other -"

"Aye, and if that were truly the case, Knight-Commander, you would not have had us on half-rations for the last month! Your punishment for an infraction that did not happen is excessive, and we'll not tolerate it much longer!"

That was the lack of lyrium talking, Rylen knew. They had all suffered for one woman's refusal to back down when Ser Bevan demanded she give up the location of her informant. Ser Giselle had stood her ground, denying their commander the opportunity to take swords into the Alienage to kill an elf whose only crime had been to share a rumor of the Champion of Kirkwall hiding there briefly before leaving the city. Rylen had stood with her; so had many others. They knew their Knight-Commander was walking a dangerous line, had hoped to keep him from making the mistake that would paint them all as murderers. Instead, Ser Giselle had been stripped of her knighthood and turned out of the Order, and as punishment for her integrity, they had all been placed on half-rations of lyrium until such time as Ser Bevan chose to lift the sanction. Even his most loyal templars, the abusers and murderers they had become, were punished, and their outrage had been swiftly silenced in a series of expulsions from the Order. But the sanction had not been lifted, and the Starkhaven templars had suffered together through the headaches, the nausea, the shakes and vivid nightmares. They supported one another and yes, a small group of them had chosen to also support the expelled Giselle, supplying her with lyrium pooled from their own meager rations, to allow her to keep functioning while she laid low among the elves that recognized the sacrifice she had made to protect them from what she now suffered.

Ser Bevan snarled at him, his round face reddening with fury. "Are you threatening me, Knight-Captain Rylen?"

"No, ser. When I threaten you, I will have my sword in my hand, and you will have a blade in your own. This is a warning, ser - a reminder that you are not as secure on your throne as you believe."

The Knight-Commander stared at him, and for the first time, Rylen thought he _saw_ the fear in the man's eyes. So he was not as far gone as many of them had thought, it seemed, still enough the man he used to be at some core part of himself to recognize that abusing a garrison of a hundred men and women was not the wisest course of action for a man alone with no coherent Chantry support.

"The supply lines to Kirkwall have been disrupted, ser," Rylen reminded him. "Not only by the explosion, but by the slavers and bandits that have descended on the city. We received a delivery of lyrium ourselves this morning. If we take it to Kirkwall and remain on half-rations ourselves, we can support our brothers and sister there. Without lyrium, what little order they have restored will be lost as they struggle with their own withdrawal. For all we know, they've none left at all."

"And my prayers are with them, Knight-Captain." But Bevan frowned, passing a hand over his eyes as he sighed. "My responsibility is to the Order here in Starkhaven. I will not deprive them to aid others."

"We are already deprived!" Rylen took a step forward, shaking with the effort of keeping his own anger in check. "We have suffered a bare fraction of what they will suffer - it is our duty to lend them aid!"

Ser Bevan drew himself up, his face like thunder. "I am your commanding officer."

"Then you are failing in your duty to the Order, Ser Bevan. And I will not follow a man who sees a problem that can be solved and does nothing."

Rylen straightened his shoulders. He was crossing that line, here and now, and he knew he would likely never be able to walk across it again. But enough was enough. He could not stand by and watch, not when he had the means to help.

"I have already given orders, ser," he informed the senior knight. "The delivery we received this morning has not been unloaded from the carts. I intend to ask for volunteers among our rank to form a relief guard and escort that lyrium to Kirkwall."

"If you persist on this course, you will find yourself no longer a brother of the Order." Ser Bevan's voice was dark with menace, but Rylen could see it for what it was - a last attempt to intimidate a man of integrity whose tolerance he had finally pushed too far. "Think very carefully about the path you are proposing to walk."

Rylen drew a deep breath. "I have been thinking, ser," he answered, surprised by how calm he sounded. He wasn't entirely sure how that was possible; anger was burning inside him at the sheer belligerent ineptitude of his superior officer. "For months, I have thought, and watched, as you ignore the increasing troubles in the world. Troubles that are right on our doorstep, troubles we could help to solve if you would just lift a finger. I have stood by and said little as you follow the path already walked by Knight-Commander Meredith, even knowing so clearly where it will lead. I have seen enough to know that you will do nothing to prevent the madness that is coming over you, and in that madness, you will let the world burn before raising a hand to douse the flames. So I must act, ser."

"Oh, you _must_ , must you?" Ser Bevan was still quiet, but the hard edge of his anger was fading. It was doubtful that anyone had drawn the parallel between himself and the insane Meredith so clearly for him before this moment. The horror of her end at the Gallows, so recent and so raw, was not a path to contemplate lightly. "You believe that you know better than your superiors, your betters?"

"No, ser, not in all things." Rylen set his jaw, gathering his words as he sought to appeal to the flicker of conscience he could see in the other man's eyes. "But I do know this. The world is falling to chaos, and there's not a damned thing I can do to stop it. I swore an oath, ser, an oath to the Maker Himself to protect and serve the people of Thedas. _All_ people, ser, be they human, elf, dwarf, or mage. Aye, I've no power to protect them all, and our wee corner has more peace than perhaps we deserve. But I see a problem I can fix, and I will do it. You may expel me from the Order if you wish, but templar or no, that lyrium will reach Kirkwall."

There was a long silence, both men testing their wills against one another - the old guard pitted against the new; a man who feared the chaos erupting around them and reacted in anger to control what little he could, against the man who needed to mitigate at least some of that chaos and would risk everything to do it. Neither was wholly right, nor wholly wrong, but this could not go on.

Ser Bevan sighed, the anger in his eyes fading as sense returned to his gaze for the first time in months. "The Order is not what it once was, Ser Rylen," he said wearily. "We have lost our way, and I fear matters will only worsen before the Divine acts. But I feel ... glad ... that you have not forgotten what we were meant to be. You are a fine captain, Rylen. A better man than I."

"I am a younger man, ser," Rylen corrected him, his own anger easing as the battle lines were drawn back. "Not a better one. You have done as you thought best, though I regret few will agree with your methods. I must do what I think best."

"And no longer mine to command." The Knight-Commander straightened, reaching for a quill and parchment. "You may take twenty-five from our garrison here, if they wish to go. Deliver the lyrium and offer aid to the Gallows and Kirkwall. I will inform the acting Knight-Commander of your transfer to his command, and arrange for Kirkwall's lyrium to be delivered here for the foreseeable future, for safe passage to the City of Chains under our guard. With Andraste's grace, we may all return to full rations within a matter of weeks."

Relief coursed through Rylen's limbs, the tension in his muscles easing. "Thank you, ser. Maker be with you."

Ser Bevan nodded absently, the quill already scratching over the parchment before him as Rylen saluted and left the office, marching down to the courtyard to address the templars he called brother and sister. It wasn't a perfect solution to the problem, but it was something. And in all this madness, doing _something_ was infinitely preferable to watching the world go to the Void unhindered.


	2. Rylen and the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY 2 - Tuesday, February 27th: Rylen and the Inquisition
> 
> Rylen becomes Commander Cullen’s second-in-command during the Inquisition and by all accounts, he does a phenomenal job of it. Let’s explore what that means! Is he softer on new recruits who never held a blade before? Does he butt heads with Cassandra? Does he accept the Herald immediately or does he take some time to warm up to the idea? We are dying to know.

Despite the heat that enveloped Skyhold as summer progressed, the war room still held onto its hint of winter chill, no doubt in part due to the fact that its windows were north-facing. The sun was bright, certainly, but brought little heat to the room until late afternoon. It did not make for a particularly comfortable place to hold a briefing.

Rylen leaned over the map table, trained eyes marking the already established camps and supply hubs the Inquisition had claimed over the past year. The proposed new center was a very long way from Skyhold, in the middle of Orlais' cold desert, close to the border with Tevinter. With a notable Venatori presence reported in the area, he could see the wisdom in placing a stronghold there. The problem was in the fact that the proposed stronghold was already occupied, by the enemy.

"The keep here is Warden construction," he said thoughtfully. "They were built to withstand magical and conventional siege."

"True, but time will have done a little of our work for us," Commander Cullen pointed out. "The scout reports suggest there is a certain amount of structural weakness that could be exploited."

"Structural weakness that will need to be addressed swiftly if we are to hold the position," Rylen countered. He wasn't trying to talk his way out of this new command, far from it; he just wanted them to be aware that this was no simple little thing they were asking him to do.

"I have been in contact with the Marquise de L'Approche-Ouest," Ambassador Montilyet interjected. "She has pledged to provide both materials and workers for the keep when you have taken it. How large a garrison will you take with you?"

Rylen rubbed his forehead as he considered this. "You want this to be some kind of hub for the region, but it's very close to the Tevinter border," he said, gesturing to the map. "If the Venatori are not put down soon, we will have a lot of problems."

"Even without the Venatori, the region will not be a peaceful one."

He raised his head, eyes seeking out Sister Nightingale. The spymaster had been quiet thus far, commenting only under her breath to the elven scout who stood at her side as Cullen, Rylen, and Josephine wrangled over details. A very pretty elven scout, he noted in the back of his mind, snapping his gaze swiftly back to Leliana.

"There's additional problems beside the Venatori and local fauna?" he asked.

Leliana nodded, gesturing to the elf woman beside her. "This is Fennec," the spymaster told him. "She is one of my best. And she has recently returned from the region in question."

Given permission now to look, Rylen let his gaze fall onto the petite form beside the Nightingale. Fennec met his gaze boldly, something he liked to see in the people he was going to work with. He wouldn't have anyone who was afraid to meet his eyes and speak their piece.

"What can you tell us about these additional problems?" Cullen asked, exchanging a glance with Josephine as her quill scratched over her parchment.

"The Western Approach is almost as inhospitable as the Hissing Wastes," the elven woman said. "Large tracts of it are impassable, thanks to low-lying sulphur clouds."

Rylen swallowed a groan. Pretty, clearly good at what she does ... but Orlesian. Ah, well, couldn't have everything.

"Scouts report quillbacks, phoenixes, and hyenas, and even a varghest or two," Fennec went on. She spoke softly, but with a surprising amount of authority for someone who clearly preferred not to be the center of attention. "There have also been several sightings of a high dragon. The region is held, nominally, by a mercenary group turned bandit calling themselves The White Claw, but the fortress is held by the Venatori themselves. There have also been darkspawn sighted, but we do not yet know where they are rising from."

There was a long pause as Rylen absorbed this. Then he turned his eyes onto the commander, who had the decency to look a little unnerved by this list of adversaries himself.

"And you expect a small force to take and hold that fortress, surrounded as it is by every level of enemy we could hope for," Rylen said, in a dull tone.

"The Inquisitor insists that he and his small party will clear the keep," Cullen told him, though he was just as obviously unhappy about this development as he was with everything else. "You will only need to hold it."

"Once we are aware of the Wardens' intentions in the region, we will be in a better position to bolster your numbers and supplies appropriately," Leliana added. "Fennec will accompany you as scout-commander."

"I'll make sure we have what we need, captain," the elven woman assured him quietly.

Beside her, Leliana's smile was almost pained. "She makes good arguments for equipment and supplies."

Rylen glanced between the two women, recognizing a professional relationship not unlike the one he shared with the commander himself. He nodded slowly. "Aye, well ... this will not be an easy job, y'ken," he pointed out. "The keep seems a small outpost, but if we're to be a hub for the Inquisitor, we'll need at least one merchant, an alchemist, a herbalist, a sturdy quartermaster. Is there fresh water close to?"

Fennec nodded. "There is a cistern directly beneath the fortress, though that may be compromised during the taking of the keep," she told him. "There is also a watering hole less than an hour's march from the keep itself. Not as convenient, perhaps, but there is drinkable water available to us."

"That's a blessing, anyway." He frowned down at the map for a moment. "How many scouts do you think you'll need, Fennec?"

She seemed surprised to have been asked, the barest hint toward a smile touching her face before she answered his question. "I can operate with four, but would prefer to have eight. You will be our commanding officer; it is your decision."

"Aye ..." Rylen glanced at Cullen thoughtfully. "Then I request forty-six, including templars, to make up the complement to fifty, with an additional twenty support units and half a dozen mages, for our initial occupation. We'll send you a better estimate of the true numbers needed when we're in situ."

"Do you believe you will need mages out there?" Josephine asked him curiously.

"With respect, ma'am, we'll be up against Venatori, darkspawn, maybe even Wardens," Rylen pointed out to her as gently as he could. It wasn't her fault she didn't think like a military woman. "There'll be injuries and illnesses, and magic can speed along the securing of a keep with structural weaknesses. I'll not mistreat them, ambassador."

"Commander, is this amenable to you?" the Nightingale asked, studying Cullen's expression.

Rylen knew that look. His friend and commander was mentally selecting the best people for the job ahead of them, already silently writing out the orders to be delivered and assembling the supplies they would have to take with them. It took a moment for Leliana's question to sink in.

"It's the best we can do for now." Cullen nodded in agreement. "The force will be assembled. You will drill together until the order comes to move out?"

The captain nodded, a faint grin on his face. "Aye, we will," he assured them. "We'll be a tight group by the time we take that keep, ser."

"You'll have to be," Cullen told him, his voice grave. "The Inquisition won't be able to help you swiftly once you enter the desert."

"Och, we can handle it," Rylen insisted breezily, knowing that attitude both irritated the commander and delighted the ambassador. "So long as we've got what's promised, we'll hold the place against an archdemon itself."

This did not have the smiling response he had expected, remembering a little too late a pertinent detail that he had conveniently pushed to the back of his mind for the last ten months or more. Cullen was holding his gaze with solemn, worried eyes.

"If Corypheus has control of the Wardens, captain ... you may have to."


	3. Family and Friends of Knight-Captain Rylen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY 3 - Wednesday, February 28th: Family and friends of Knight-Captain Rylen
> 
> Rylen is the fifth - and youngest - child of a stonemason family in Starkhaven, but we know little of them. What kind of headcanons do you have about his childhood? Or maybe you want to see him with a family of his own? Perhaps there’s that one time he got super drunk with Lace Harding at The Singing Maiden and they sang embarrassing songs together? What is his relationship with Cullen like? The sky is the limit.

"Fair night, captain?"

Rylen grinned at the sentry on duty in the space between the gate towers. "Aye, it's a fair night," he agreed, raising a hand to rap on the door to the commander's office. "Promising a fair day tomorrow, too."

The boy grinned back at him. "Yes, ser."

"Is the commander in, d'you know?" the knight-captain found himself asking. Usually, Cullen barked out an order to enter barely a full second after the first knock.

"Haven't seen him come out this way, ser," the lad answered promptly. "Or head to the keep -"

He was interrupted by the sound of the commander calling for the knocker to enter, a good deal less abruptly than Rylen was used to hearing Cullen in his own office. The captain chuckled, nodding to the sentry, and pushed the door open to step inside.

He found his friend and commanding officer standing nonchalantly by the window, fingers clenched on his sword hilt, turning what might almost have been nervous eyes toward the knocker. Eyes that flashed with something Rylen recognized as swift disappointment before warming. The Starkhaven man found himself grinning again as he cast a glance about the office, noting the signs of a desk made hastily tidier, and the wayward tousle of heavily waxed curls that betrayed a hand smoothed over them not so very long ago.

"Expecting someone else, Commander?" he asked in amusement.

Cullen's scowl was swiftly swept aside, but it was definitely there. "No, not at all," he insisted. "Though I must confess, I was not expecting you. Shouldn't you be bedding down? You have an early start tomorrow."

Rylen chuckled. "My last night in Skyhold before we take to the Approach isn't going to be spent bedding down early like some mother's child," he said, rolling his eyes. "Thought to spend it sharing a dram or two with a friend." He held up the bottle in his hands. "Inquisitor let me take my pick of his bottles. I know you've a liking for the Mackay."

It was glorious to watch the indecision march across Cullen's face. They'd known one another for years, ever since Rylen had defied his own knight-commander to enter Kirkwall and offer aid and relief to the beleaguered templars there after the calamity that had kicked off the current mess the world found itself in. In that time, Rylen had come to know his friend very well indeed; well enough to know that he did not take time to just be the man he was very often at all. The Starkhaven man had taken it upon himself to force Cullen to step away from work every now and then; he had hopes that someone else might be able to do the same in his absence.

"My work -"

"Will keep until morning," Rylen interrupted his friend, setting the bottle down on the desk to uncork it. The tempting aroma of ancient, smooth whiskey was not slow to make itself known. "You've the look of a man ready to stop for the night, and I'll not take no for an answer."

Cullen's brows drew together as their gazes locked. "Are you attempting to bully your commanding officer?"

Rylen laughed. "I'm teasing a friend, you great fool! Fetch out a pair of glasses and sit yourself down - I've seen how you get when you've had a couple."

"No worse than you when you've downed half a bottle," Cullen countered, but the indecisive frown was gone from his face, replaced with half a smile as he set a pair of glasses down on the desk. "Decent measures, if you don't mind, Knight-Captain."

"Och, when have I ever given you a half-decent measure?"

"That's what I'm talking about."

Rylen smirked to himself as he sloshed a couple of inches of gloriously alcoholic goodness into the two glasses, listening to the sound of Cullen excavating a pair of chairs from the debris that cluttered one corner of his office.

"If you're referring to the night The Hanged Man reopened, I maintain you needed it," he commented, handing one glass to his friend as he eased himself down into the seat provided.

Cullen snorted, rolling his eyes as he claimed his own seat. "I don't think Kirkwall needed to see me so drunk I could barely stand," he complained mildly.

"Och, they did," Rylen insisted. "You were holding that city together single-handed once the Champion skipped out on you. Showing you're a flesh and blood man did the world of good for those folks who looked up to you."

"I still don't know how you managed to get so much brandy into my ale without my noticing."

The Starkhaven man's grin widened. "Ah, 'tis a grand secret of mine, that is," he informed his friend. "I'll not be sharing it unless the time comes when you've need of it yourself."

The commander let out a low huff of laughter, his face relaxing for a brief moment as he savored the first sip of his whiskey. "I cannot imagine when I might need to get someone so drunk they can't walk straight."

"You might do one day." Rylen shrugged, warming his own measure in the cup of his hand as they talked. It had been far too long since he'd been able to pin his friend down to just relax for an hour or so. "You get truth out of the drunk."

Cullen snorted with laughter. "I am hardly going to have prisoners inebriated simply to have truthful answers from them, Rylen."

"I was thinking more on the lines of a certain wee diplomatic assistant."

It was worth bringing that up just to see the fearsome Commander Cullen abruptly pale and redden, and glance reflexively toward the door that lead toward the main hall. Rylen grinned to himself.

"Ah, so you _are_ expecting someone," he teased, supremely at ease in his own seat. "A certain unusual someone who blushes every time you make her smile, p'raps?"

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly. "I have nothing to say about that."

"Aye, well, I expect you to have something to say by the time I get called back from the Approach, or you'll regret it," Rylen told him confidently. He sat forward. "Don't be so stuffed about it, Cullen. She likes you, 'tis plain to see it. Aye, and you like her, though you seem to think no one knows. We're just waiting for that one moment when you stop pining and make your move."

"Oh, and it's as easy as that, is it?" The golden-haired man opposite him did not look convinced. "Just tell her how I feel and kiss her until she can't feel her toes. And what if she rejects me, hmm?"

Rylen snorted with laughter, shaking his head. "There's no reason on this plane that she would reject you," he said with absolute certainty. "Cedric's certain she's sweet on you, and I did overhear that Sukie lass teasing her about daydreaming about the commander when she's s'posed to be working. You gave her a cat, for Andraste's sake! It's obvious as sin where this should be going, and it's torture watching you both fail to get any closer."

"It isn't as simple as that, Rylen," Cullen insisted awkwardly. "She's alone here - no family, barely anything familiar. She struggles with it all the time. The last thing I want is to give her more confusion to cloud her mind."

"Ever think that you'd be giving her a wee bit of clarity?" The captain eyed his friend for a long moment. "Listen, Cullen. You're a good man, a good friend, and a fine commander. But there's more to life than withdrawal and work and drills. You've a chance to have love in your life. No man ever made progress without taking a risk, and believe me, this is risk worth taking."

"And that's advice you would take yourself, is it?" Cullen asked, just a little suspicious of his friend's well-meant offering.

Rylen sat back. "Aye, it is," he agreed. "Ever I find a woman who looks at me the way your Erin looks at you, I'll take that risk in a heartbeat. Life's brutal enough without denying yourself something to make it sweeter."

There was a long silence, both men contemplating their drinks and the words they had shared. Then Cullen sighed, downing the contents of his glass in one gulp.

"Maybe it's time I took a risk, then," he conceded, setting the glass on the table. "Fill her up, captain."

Rylen chuckled, downing his own glass to reach forward and pour a couple of fresh measures for them both. "Shame to waste the Mackay now it's open, aye?"

"A dire travesty," Cullen agreed with a grin of his own, raising his glass in a silent toast to his friend.

Outside, Skyhold was settling down for the night; sentries walked the walls, the tavern rang with chatter and music, the moons rose to shine down on the fortress they had claimed for their own. But in here, in the quiet chill of the tower, they were just Rylen and Cullen, friends before colleagues, sharing one last evening before circumstances parted them for the first time in four years. Rylen had to hope Cullen would take that risk in his absence. The man needed _someone_ to remind him he was human every now and then.


	4. Rylen, the man of romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY 4 - Thursday, March 1st: Rylen, the man of romance
> 
> The sexiest man from Starkhaven to ever join the Inquisition doesn’t have an official love interest. Is he gay, straight or bisexual? Or maybe he doesn’t care in what shape his love comes, as long as they love him back. Either way, share the stories of love - or heartbreak - that pertain to the Captain! Is he pining for the Inquisitor? Did one of the soldiers catch his eye? Or maybe there’s a women in his past that he cannot forget? We are all sitting at the edge of our seats to find out.

Rough hands on smooth skin, skimming over scars that told a story of their own. Breath turned harsh with exertion, whispers of loving and eagerness bandied back and forth with each touch, each wicked tease. A tender cry in the soft light of the morning, the sweet vulnerability of a shattering moment shared, heedless of anyone who heard them. This was no secret, to be kept shamefully in the dark and quiet, oh no. He did not care who knew of the love he bore for the elven woman who, even now, lay trembling in his arms.

Corinne was everything Rylen had once thought he should never even wish for. An elf, Orlesian, a woman to share his life and his bed, to give his heart to and hope for the future with. A partner in everything; not dependent upon him, nor he upon her. The magic they made came from their choice to be together, even in the midst of chaos that could rip them from one another in a single breath. He gathered her close into the warm wrap of his arms, lingering in this breathless moment when the world stood still for them alone, and smiled to feel her own arms creep about him in turn.

It was rare for them to have a slow morning like this. But it was a rare sort of day. Corypheus was dead; they had been recalled from the Western Approach to join in the planned celebrations for the days ahead. They were in a bed, behind four solid walls; they had a window that not only had glass in it, but looked out over the more reassuring familiarity of snow-capped peaks, rather than the wind-blasted sand they had endured together for months. They were together. They were _home._

And here and now, in this slow, quiet moment that belonged to just them ... there was only one thing Rylen needed to know.

He scooped his hand into the tangled fall of Corinne's hair, gently tilting her face upward to touch a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, grinning at the way she giggled in answer, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone, resisting the temptation to tease his callused fingertips to the sensitive point of her ear.

"Corinne, lass," he murmured, admiring the play of snow-touched sunlight over her sun-tanned skin. "What would you say to being married today?"

He'd expected her to smile, to agree, perhaps to cry. He hadn't expected the look of absolute shock that widened her eyes and drew her back from his embrace, the mild expression of horror that colored her gaze. The ache that bloomed in his chest wrapped vice-like about his heart, squeezing tight as he braced himself for the rejection he had never thought she would give him.

"Rylen ... a-are you _sure_ you know what you are asking?"

His eyes narrowed, confusion touching the pain in his heart. That wasn't an outright no, that was ... what was that? What was she saying?

"I am an elf," she reminded him, that strangely bitter edge to her tone that came whenever she thought of her own race. "I do not even have a rich heritage, like our Inquisitor. I was a body servant, little more than a slave. I am still a runaway; my former master will not give me up so easily as he pretends. I will bring you trouble, simply by existing."

"That is not who you are, love," he told her fiercely, hating the way she drew the prejudices of their world around herself and felt them so keenly. "Aye, you're an elf. I'm a human. What of it? What you were before is over, and I'll black the eye of any man that tries to claim you from me. Loving you is no trouble; aye, and keeping you would be a pleasure beyond any I can wish for."

"But ... even if we were to have children, they would be human," she pointed out. "Elf-blooded, but human. They'd never be accepted by elves or humans, and -"

"Corinne, I'm not asking for your hand just to fill your belly," Rylen interrupted with a frown. "I'm asking _you_ , the woman I love, the woman I took a sword in the guts for not so very long ago, to forget she's an elf and tell me if I'm worthy to ask for her hand."

The astonishment on her face at these words was more than enough to quell the roiling fear in his heart.

"Not worthy?" Corinne rose from where she lay to loom over him, pushing him over onto his back with the fierceness he loved in her. " _You_ are more worthy than anyone I have ever known, do not _ever_ think otherwise!"

His fingers skimmed down her bare back as he held her gaze, wondering how long it would take for her to realize she had not yet answered his question. "Do you trust me, Corinne?"

Her expression softened as she rested against him, skin to skin, unashamed of their closeness here in the privacy of this moment. So what frightened her so much about making their closeness something to be shared with their world?

"Do you love me, Corinne?"

"Rylen ... you know I do," she breathed, lowering her brow to his. "I wish I was more than I am."

He curled his hand to her neck, holding her there, bare inches from his own face, his stormy eyes boring into her own.

"I don't want you to be anything but who you are," he told her, his voice low and fervent with the need for her to understand. "I love you, Corinne, the woman you are. Listen to me. I don't care for the opinions of anyone who doesn't know us, anyone who looks at you and sees only an elf. They're nothing to me. My greatest wish in this world is to share it with you. Not to build a family, or challenge the naysayers, though that would be fun. I want _you_ , for as long as you'll have me. Marry me, love?"

"There are those who will look down on you," she began, but he smiled, shaking his head, kissing her lips to shush her.

"They look down on me already," he reminded her. "I'm a Marcher, and proud of it. I'm a templar who left the Order, and proud of it. I'm a man who loves his woman, and I will never be less than proud of that. Aye, life may be hard for us, but we'll live it together. We'll endure it together. I've no land, no fortune. I've an addiction I'll be trying hard to be beat in the years to come. But I love you, my sweet wee fox. That, I know, will never change, no matter the hardship."

She was silent for a long moment, those fathomless eyes of hers unreadable as a maelstrom swept through her expression, conflicting emotions grappling for dominance as thoughts he could barely even begin to guess at battled one another in her mind. But he knew when that battle was done. He saw it, in the beautiful eyes that smiled on him, sweet with the love he'd watched grow over the months spent in her company; he felt it, in the gentle release of tension from the soft form that lay close over his own. He tasted it, in the tender play of her lips against his as she sighed into him, her objections set aside in the face of the present certainty that was him.

"Yes, I'll marry you," she whispered, laughing as he loosed a joyful whoop and tossed her over onto her back, her turn to be surrounded, enveloped, overwhelmed with kisses that promised a future together.

"Today," he murmured against her lips. "This morning. _Soon."_

Giggling, she poked at his ticklish ribs, wriggling when he turned that tickle back onto her, filling their borrowed room with the squawk of indignantly undignified laughter from them both as they wrestled each other in the tangled sheets. He had reach, she had flexibility, and neither one of them was going to win, but this was a fight he would be happy to replay over and over again for many years to come. Corinne Delon would be his wife come the rising of the moons tonight, and woe betide anyone who tried to come between them.


	5. Captain Rylen, the pet detective, aka the AU day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY 5 - Friday, March 2nd: Captain Rylen, the pet detective, aka the AU day
> 
> Why limit yourself to only one version of Rylen? Why not find out what he would be like as a police officer, or a fire fighter, or a security officer? Why not see him act in a soap opera? Can we put him in a kilt and have him run the moors of Scotland? I’m sure he’d be stunning in noir-type story as a jaded detective who gets a visit from gorgeous woman in a red dress. We desperately need all of it.
> 
> Or in this case ... Rylen The Demon Slayer, based heavily on the opening scene from Buffy's 100th episode!

Dark alleys, dank streets, no signs of life. No lights in the windows, no place of refuge. The Chantry too far away, the street lamps not lit in this part of town. Feet skidded on litter and dross, discarded by revelers after a celebration too early in the making; breath harsh in the throat, eyes wild for something, anything, to save her from the inevitable end that pursued.

She ran, headlong, heedless, panic spurring her every step, always aware of the death that followed with laughing ease. Death that would come only when she was no longer a source of entertainment for a being that had no place in the waking world. Fear spurred her on, clouded her mind, lead her to a blind alley wreathed in shadow. Only one door, barred from within, no answer when she hammered on it, crying for help.

Starkhaven was dark and silent. Night had come.

Nowhere to run.

The elven girl pushed herself back from the barred door, terrified eyes turning toward the corner that hid her pursuer. She shouldn't have come out tonight; she should have stayed home, like her mother told her, stayed safe behind the gates of the Alienage closed tightly for just this reason. The human guards wouldn't care that another elf was taken by the night. They never cared.

She was going to die tonight.

Yet ... there was no sound from that dark corner. No rustle of cloth, no sound of footsteps, not even the laughter that had chased her into this dead end. Hope rose in a cruel surge - had she been lucky? Had something else, _someone_ else, taken her place?

"Quite the chase you lead me on, darling."

A staggered moan of renewed terror escaped the elven girl as she hurriedly drew away, backing toward the dead end she had trapped herself in. The voice was honeyed menace, low, enticing, a temptation and a threat. And its owner was not far behind it, gliding into view from the darkness of that silent corner.

Purple-skinned, horned, an image designed to be both alluring and terrifying; there was no reason for a Desire Demon to pretend to be anything but what it was. For the sake of lulling this particular elf's senses, it chose to appear male - the best male it could conjure, a glamor of broad shoulders, toned muscle, the darker valleys of that deliciously defined torso augmented with gold ornament that drew the eye to the impressively created illusion of undeniable masculinity. But it was the eyes that were the greatest danger. Shadowed, unfathomable, they pierced the darkness, a heady compulsion to look deep and lose yourself in the fulfillment of your desires.

The elf whimpered softly as the full force of that gaze focused in on her, a mind that was utterly incomparable to her own sifting through her wants and desires until it found something that it, too, liked.

"So much anger, darling," the demon purred, gliding ever closer to its paralyzed prey. "I can help you kill them, you know ... take revenge on every human who ever sneered at you, looked down on you, passed by when you needed their help. I can give you what you need to be feared by every human who ever even suggested that you are less than they ..."

One clawed hand reached out. The elven girl sighed, trapped in the sinful temptation of both mind and glamored body, her cheek tilting toward the demon's touch -

The barred door to her right suddenly opened loudly.

"Hey, what's goin' on out here?"

The unexpected solidity of a broad, male Starkhaven accent - something _real_ \- shattered the demon's grasp on the girl's mind. She gasped, jerking back from the unnatural creature that had come so close to ensnaring her. It snarled, the deadly beauty of its glamor faltering in a flare of anger at stolen delights.

"Walk away, pretty boy," the demon warned in a low hiss.

As the elven girl stumbled away from her demonic pursuer, her back finding the wall hard, the owner of that Starkhaven drawl stepped out into the alleyway, taking up a position between her and the Desire Demon that glared at him. She couldn't see much of him in the dim light from the doorway - tall, certainly; human, definitely; young, perhaps; cloaked in a battered leather duster that had definitely seen better days, with myriad corded leather bands about his neck and wrists.

"Are you botherin' this wee lass here?" he asked the demon, as though it were just any other person. "It's late to be playing tag, y'ken."

The demon's tempting eyes narrowed on him, its entire glamor shifting from male to female in a strangely nauseating ripple of uncertain lines and shapeless form. "Are you offering to take her place, little man?"

The human boy shook his head. "No," he said easily, sounding as though he were smiling as he did so. "I wonder ... have you ever heard the expression, 'biting off more than you can chew'?"

In the shadows, the elven girl saw the demon hesitate, saw the confusion cross the jarringly beautiful face. She saw the human's shoulders rise and fall as he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"No? How about the phrase ... Demon Slayer?"

The Desire Demon scoffed, shaking its horned head. "You bore me, human."

"You've never heard that one?" The boy sounded both impressed and disappointed. "Well now, that's new. All right ... how about, 'ow, my eye'?"

What happened next was seared into the elven girl's mind for the rest of her life. She saw the Desire Demon snarl, saw the flicker of magic at its fingertips; saw the boy raise his right hand, something slender and complex mounted on his inner wrist. There was a snap of sound, the brief screech of some enchanted thing passing through whatever wards had been raised against it ... and the Desire Demon reeled backward, a short bolt sticking out of its left eye.

"My eye! You shot me in the eye!"

"There now, y'see?" the boy said conversationally. "Now we're communicating."

The demon screamed at him, the sound far more than mere voice, fire and ice flashing from clawed fingers as it charged the human boy that had harmed it. The elven girl cowered back into her shadow, one hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of terror as the boy lurched out of range, reaching back to draw a wicked-looking sword from between his duster and back. He snapped something to someone inside the open door, ducking a blast of ice thrown by the demon, and rolled to avoid another attack as a shield was tossed to him from inside the building. Armed and armored, he turned back to his foe, deflecting the spells that came his way with the shield on his arm, pressing the Desire Demon back until there was nowhere to run. A last blinding flare of pure magical energy ... and the creature slumped, crumpling around the thrust of that sword, the glamor peeling away from the body it had stolen to walk the mortal realm.

The boy stepped back, nudging the body with the toe of his heavy combat boot.

"Huh. S'been a while since I met one that didnae know me," he commented, glancing over at the girl still cowering in the shadows. He sheathed the sword on his back, once again hiding it beneath the heavy leather duster he wore. "Now then, lass ... you're a ways from the Alienage."

"Bring her inside, Rylen," a voice called from the still open doorway. "We'll make a call to the Alienage, see she gets home safe."

"Aye, Cullen, I'm doin' it."

The boy - Rylen - offered a hand to the cowering elf. She stared up at him, eyes wide with fear and admiration. He was handsome, for a human, but definitely still only a boy, his face marked with dark ink that lined the length of his prominent nose and chin. The symbol of Andraste hung at his throat, together with another symbol she didn't quite recognize, of a down-turned sword surrounded by flame.

"H-how did you do that?" she asked, pointing to the dispossessed body that was all that remained of the demon that had driven her here in the first place.

He glanced in the direction she pointed, shrugging with a resigned sort of weary smile.

"It's what I do."

* * *

 

_Into every generation a slayer is born: one soul in all the world, a chosen one. He alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the demons, the shades, the terrors, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. He is the Slayer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Rylen Appreciation Week! Check out the blog on tumblr - [@rylenappreciationweek](https://rylenappreciationweek.tumblr.com/) \- and take a look at all the gorgeousness that's been created and submitted to appreciate our glorious Starkhaven knight-captain!


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